


On my fingertips

by magpie_fngrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beltane, Centaurs, Facials, Getting Together, Goblins, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, House Elves, M/M, Music Festival, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-04-28 13:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14450157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/pseuds/magpie_fngrl
Summary: In which Auror Potter has gone AWOL, Draco Malfoy is a bounty hunter, and an All-Beings-friendly music festival is under threat.





	On my fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [germankitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [На кончиках пальцев](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471453) by [Slavyanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slavyanka/pseuds/Slavyanka)



> Dear Germankitty, I hope you enjoy the story! Many thanks to my beta, **bixgirl1** , for her help and encouragement, and to the mod for organising the fest. The title comes from Medicine by Harry Styles. Happy Beltane!

Visiting the Ministry for the renewal of his Bounty Hunter licence was a chore Draco wished he could do without, but it also gave him an excuse to drop in at the Auror Office and annoy Potter. However, Potter wasn’t there that day; rumour had it he’d left work three days before and hadn’t come back.

“Did our beloved hero finally crack under the weight of his righteousness?” Draco asked the administrator in L.A.M.E., the Licences for Affiliated Ministry Employees, his arse perched comfortably on her desk. “Shame. I had intentions regarding his… crack.”

Nashita suppressed a chuckle, her eyes amused. “You’re  _terrible_ , Draco.”

“It’s why you love me,” Draco replied with a wink.

“You’re a cheeky boy,” she said indulgently. She stamped his licence and inked in the date of the next renewal. “He’s safe, is what I know. Sent a Patronus to Gawain and said he ‘needed a break’.”

“So he _did_ crack.” Draco picked one of the snow globes that always littered Nashita’s desk; presents from her grandchildren. “Always knew it’d happen one day.”

She handed back his licence and beckoned him closer. “Word is, he went rogue,” she whispered confidentially.

“Noooo!”

Nashita smiled with satisfaction at his reaction. “There’s been a mole in the Aurors for quite some time now, feeding information to the Revivalists. Now people are saying Potter was the mole. They say he works for the terrorists.”

Draco made an appropriate show of shock to reward Nashita for the gossip even though he didn’t believe a word of it. The moment Potter would help a group of people intent on “reviving proper wizarding values” by declaring the supremacy of humans over all sentient beings was the moment the world would end.

“Hold on,” Nashita said, as a light blinked on a new contraption on her desk. She picked up a receiver and pressed some buttons, but the light only blinked faster, making her groan in frustration. “I wish they’d kept the old memo system; don’t know why they need to modernise everything.”

Modernisation was the key word these days. Out with the old and in with the new. _The Prophet_ ’s demise had given rise to seven new newspapers and a plethora of journalistic voices, many of which clamoured about how insular the magical society had become and how that had led to its near destruction. The collective desire to avoid past transgressions brought an air of change, slight and tentative at first, such as a series of children’s books that introduced magical folk to the concept of space and planets; or the fact that centaurs and merpeople finally accepted their classification as Being. And the breeze of change became a gale: new talks between goblins and  humans re-examined their respective places in magical society; an array of All-Beings-friendly clubs mushroomed in all major cities; an association of free house-elves formed a political party, the Dobby Liberals; and the first marriage between wizard and goblin caused a controversy the likes of which Draco hadn’t seen before — but also a precedent.

Seven years after Voldemort bit the dust and six after the bitter, vicious year that had ensued, Britain was almost unrecognizable. And that had brought on the backlash: the Revivalists, who desired a return to the values of old. A revival of past glory. _Make magical Britain great again_.

Draco slid his licence in his pocket and stood to take his leave, but Nashita stopped him, having finally found what button she had to press to hear the inter-departmental message. “Robards knows you’re here. He wants to see you.”

Draco slung his wand holster crookedly on his hips, as befitting a Bounty Hunter, and took the lift to the D.M.L.E. He was familiar with the department, having arrested several escaped convicts in his career; he was the one they called when catching a criminal required stepping a little outside the law. The Auror department was stretched thin as it was; not many people wanted to join its ranks in this ‘make love not war’ post-Voldemort society.

The staff were restless. Tension hummed beneath the semblance of normality everyone tried to affect, permeating the corridors and the cubicles. The people by the water fountain stopped their furious whispering when they saw him to cast disapproving looks his way. Aurors hated outsiders doing their job for them, especially when said outsider enjoyed more success in his apprehensions than many experienced Aurors.

“Come in,” Robards barked when Draco knocked. He gestured at one of the seats in front of him and lit his pipe, gazing at Draco through a cloud of blue smoke. “You know why you’re here.”

“So many rumours.” 

“A load of bollocks,” Robards growled. “The boy has some issues with authority — clearly. Not to mention it’s days before the anniversary of the Battle. But going rogue? Not in a million years.”

“So you’re not worried?” Draco crossed his leg on his knee and took out a slim cigarette case.

“I didn’t say that. Of course I’m worried. Looks like we have a Revivalist mole in our midst. I don’t need my star Auror going AWOL at the same time. Puts everyone on edge. Aurors on edge make mistakes.”

“Considering the blunders they make when _not_ on edge…” Draco murmured.

Robards scowled. “You’d be a great Auror if you wanted, Malfoy. But until you decide to join my team, keep your opinions about our _blunders_ to yourself.”

“Pardon. Tell me why I’m here,” Draco said, although he knew since he’d received the summons.

“You know _why_. With this rumoured mole, I can’t trust any of my own people,” Robards said, his jowls moving in indignation. “I want you to find Potter, find out what the bloody hell he thinks he’s doing, and bring him back. And you’ll keep your trap shut about it.”

“Rest assured you can trust _me_ ,” Draco said. “As long as you pay me my usual fee and expenses — plus an added fifteen per cent. For my shut trap.”

Robards narrowed his eyes but didn’t object. He grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled on it. Draco ground out his cigarette in an ashtray, his glance falling at the framed medals behind Robards’s desk. In their years of reluctant cooperation, Draco had come to appreciate the Head Auror for his gruff brand of honesty and the rather filthy sense of humour he hid under the stern exterior. Having him as a boss wouldn’t be intolerable, but Draco had decided a long time ago not to let anyone give him orders anymore.

Robards handed the parchment to Draco. “Take this to Beverly and ask for your usual advance.” He leaned back and watched Draco as he was leaving. “I expect results, Malfoy, and I expect them soon.”

“You’ll have them,” Draco replied, shutting the door behind him.

 

“You should’ve seen him, Draco, all paranoid and twitchy in the days before he left; he wouldn’t even drink the coffee from the pot in the kitchen. Convinced someone had put poison in it. I say Potter lost his marbles. Not the first time, is it? Skeeter used to write about him being unstable,” Beverly was saying, signing the money form and counting out three hundred galleons for Draco.

Potter going insane wasn’t far-fetched, according to Draco, but considering they had a corrupt Auror in the department, it probably made _some_ sense not to drink from the communal coffee pot.

After tucking the heavy money pouch in his robes, Draco walked around the department, trying to imagine what might have set Potter off. He sniffed the coffee pot in the kitchen, cast a quick spell just in case, but discovered only a low quality, extra strong coffee — no wonder Aurors were so jittery. He overheard a few heated conversations that revolved around the debate ‘mad or traitor’ and, eventually, he wandered over to Potter’s office.

The door was ajar and Potter’s partner, Geronimo Calgary, was complaining to another Auror. “Not the first time Potter left me in a lurch, is it? What with him sauntering off Merlin-knows-where whenever he has a _hunch_. No respect for— _Ah_. Look what the cat dragged in.” Calgary’s eyes had noticed Malfoy at the door. The other Auror left, throwing a contemptuous glance at Draco, who walked in uninvited and settled on Potter’s desk.

Calgary crossed his arms. “How’s the L.A.M.E. department?”

“Asking for you to be its poster boy.” Draco furtively checked out Potter’s workspace, trying to find out what he’d been working on before he took off. A cluttered mess, as usual. Draco had visited several times in the past, mostly to gloat about apprehending someone that had eluded the Aurors, which resulted in Potter grunting: “of course _you_ ’d find them, you’re half a criminal yourself”. However, their animosity had lost its bite and Potter’s snappy ripostes were soothing in their familiarity. It was a comfort to know that in this fast-moving world some things never changed.

Besides, Potter looked hot when he had his feathers ruffled — so ruffle them Draco did.

“If you came here to flirt with Potter again,” Calgary said, “allow me to inform you he’s buggered off no one knows where. I hope you’re not looking for a substitute.”

“Don’t fret,” Draco said while trying to read the cover of a file upside-down. “I only flirt with _men_.”

Predictably, Calgary’s scowl deepened and his cheeks reddened. Manhood was sacred to him and slights against his not tolerated. Draco leaned back on the desk, sending some files crashing on the floor, and smirked at him. “Unless you wanted me to?”

“ _Get out_ ,” Calgary growled, and Draco said, “Make me,” and Calgary took out his wand and so did Draco, but sanity prevailed in the end, Calgary presumably recalling Robards’s strict rules against duels inside the Ministry.

“You’re no fun,” Draco pouted when Calgary grudgingly put the wand away and snapped at him to leave again. Draco hopped to his feet, bent to gather the fallen files, thrust them on the desk, and blew a kiss at Potter’s fuming partner as he left.

 

Tracking down a fugitive was a puzzle and Draco enjoyed puzzles. Going back to his pad, he made the usual preparations: he packed a leather backpack with the essentials, Floo’d Pansy to ask her to take care of his cat, Persephone, and popped to Knockturn Alley to bribe some information out of the kind of people who wouldn’t speak to an Auror but would talk to him — for the right price.

Later, as the sun was casting scarlet rays through his open window, the smell of spring drifting in the breeze, Draco sat at his kitchen table with a cup of Earl Grey by his elbow and Persephone on his lap and pored over the file he stole from Potter’s office when he picked them up from the floor. Potter and Calgary had been working on the Revivalists — no surprises there. Presumed leader of the group was Rufus Stiffendorf, former Wizengamot member, and there’d been six attacks so far, increasing in ferocity. The first was during the Yule Ball for Elf Emancipation three years ago; the latest was charming the Ministry’s Halloween party decorations to emit a lethal gas as a protest to the first goblin students to attend Hogwarts last autumn. It was by sheer luck that a house-elf smelled the gas — odourless to humans — and alerted the Aurors in time. The casualties would’ve been enormous.  

Draco figured that if the Revivalists could enter the Ministry to hex the decorations, they could definitely spike the coffee pot. He hated it when Potter started making sense.

He stood and stretched, his mind deep in thought. The Revivalists’ attacks had taken place during the old religious festivals and he was certain Potter had noticed the pattern, too. Beltane was the day after tomorrow and there was one prime candidate for the terrorists’ ire: a hamlet on the west of Scotland called Thuir Mor, where an All Beings-friendly three-day music festival to celebrate Beltane had opened its doors that very morning.

Draco checked his watch. If he hurried, he’d be there just as the party started.

 

* * *

 

The hamlet of Thuir Mor had a dozen houses, a stone church, a pub and an old mansion on the hill. Brightly-painted signs — visible only to magical eyes — guided the visitor through the village (flashing reminders that the use of magic in front of Muggles was prohibited) and up the slope to the lush grounds of the estate, overlooking Loch Arkaig.

Two goblins, a pink-haired witch, and a young centaur with a flower garland around his neck issued Draco with a golden band around his wrist, and let him inside the spelled gates to the swirling, flashing, pulsating mob of people, colour and sound. Bass thumped from the stage at the back, where _The Arctic Bowtruckles_ strummed their guitars and banged their drums for their screaming fans. Colourful flags encircled the site, fluttering in the breeze that carried the aroma of a dozen different food stalls: macrobiotic burgers, Goan fish curries, piles of rotten vegetables for the ghosts, a raw steak truck for the werewolves. Draco mused it was lucky Beltane didn’t fall on a full moon, and gave the truck a wide berth; after what he’d seen of Greyback and his pack, he’d never be entirely comfortable around werewolves. Water fountains stood near the food stalls, and a blood bar was set well back from the crowd where a group of rowdy vampires were downing shots. Goblins hurried past to watch an acrobatics spectacle in the Circus tent, and three centaurs galloped towards the loch, holding cans of beer and raising clouds in the dust with their hooves. A fleet of tents dotted the meadow behind the main site, and on top of the hill three large bonfires were waiting to be lit. Draco bought a vindaloo from two Veela sisters and ate it staring at everyone who staggered, strode or strolled past him, but the sheer number of people made it hard to find Potter in this crowd.

Until a dark man with dreads working the cider bar glanced at Draco and did a double-take. The double-take was followed by tense shoulders, and Draco made a beeline for the bar.

“What it’ll be?” the man asked Draco after he’d served three wizards wearing ‘Support Inter-Species Marriage’ pins.

Draco smirked. “Your Scottish accent is crap.”

The man clenched his fists. “Order something or get lost. I’m busy.”

“There’s only one man who wants to deck me upon sight,” Draco said, pointing at the fists, “and that man’s called Potter.”

The man glanced around to see if anyone heard the name, but their corner of the bar was empty. He glared at Draco. “I bet everyone who meets you wants to deck you.”

Draco laughed. “Is it _this_ easy to break through your cover?”

Potter’s glower was a thing to behold and it tickled Draco to see him so irritable. However, he didn’t mean to antagonise him to the point of Potter Disapparating, so he conceded, “Look, it’s a solid disguise, but I know you too well by now, Potter. I bet I’d recognise you even if you turned into a pygmy puff.” He pretended to think. “Most definitely then, I suppose.”

Keeping his eyes on Draco, Potter called to his colleague about taking a break and went round the bar. He grabbed Draco’s forearm and pulled him towards the woods. “Did you come here to insult me?”

“You forgot to leave a letter of resignation, Potter,” Draco said. “I have to say, I didn’t see this career change coming.”

“Are you going to tell Robards?” Potter led him deep in the woods, the noise of the festival a distant echo amid the rustling of leaves. He slid his hand in his pocket, possibly to Obliviate or Stun Draco, or Disapparate to a new location.

“He’s paying me to.” Draco rested his hand on his own holster.

“That’s not an answer.” His eyes lingered on Draco’s face, lips pursed.

Potter seemed poised to take flight any minute and Draco had to tread carefully. He stepped back and leaned on the rough bark of an oak, giving him some space. “Can you tweak your glamour? I’m finding it hard to be rude to a stranger.”

Potter sighed as if put-upon, but took out his wand, murmured a spell and he was back looking like himself — for Draco’s eyes alone. Potter’s messy hair and full lips, his nerdy glasses and stubborn jawline had occupied Draco’s fantasies for years, but the abrupt change from the face of a stranger to Potter’s brought with it the uncomfortable realisation of how _much_ Draco liked to look at him. How the sight of his flushed and familiar face warmed him and soothed him just as much as it excited him. He couldn’t help visiting Potter’s office whenever he was at the Ministry and he couldn’t help ribbing him and making lewd comments, especially in the presence of others. Draco had turned his attraction to him into a joke, hoping to avoid anyone realising how deep that attraction cut.

“People think you’ve gone mad,” Draco said, removing his hand from his holster and pulling out his cigarettes instead.

Draco’s conversational tone seemed to appease Potter. His shoulders relaxed and he stared at the festival site, his arms crossed. “I’m here, because I can trust no one,” he said. “I’m doing my job.”

“You could’ve told your boss that. He only knew you weren’t abducted, because you sent a Patronus.” Patronuses could never be cast under duress. “Or you could’ve let your partner in on it… I spoke to him this afternoon.”

Potter chuckled. “Did it end in a fight?”

“Wands were drawn,” Draco confirmed and Potter laughed.

“Ger has a stick up his arse alright. He’s probably furious at me now.” He paused, his face falling. “I can’t trust him. Nor Robards. I can’t trust anyone in the department.”

“So you’ve decided to do this alone?”

Potter slanted a look at him. “Well, now _you_ ’re here.”

Draco watched the red glow of his cigarette, absorbing the implications of Potter’s statement. “You expect me to help you stop the bad guys?”

“I expect you to do whatever is most profitable for you,” Potter said, looking away.

A Bounty Hunter always worked alone. Draco had never been big on teamwork, but the idea of working alongside Potter made his mouth go dry. “I don’t see the need to return to Robards tonight with you tied up in a nice bow,” he said. “The more days I spent “searching” for you, the higher my fee.”

“Is money all you care about?” Potter asked. He’d asked this before, on the night they’d run into each other at the  _Ticklish Thestral_ drunk as skunks years ago.

“Doesn’t that reassure you? The Revivalists can’t afford me. I’m the only person you can trust here.”

Potter looked contemplative. “I’ll be breaking a few Ministry regulations, confiding in you,” he said, but in a matter-of-fact tone rather than indicating any sign of regret, showing how little he’d changed from their school years and his insistent rule-breaking. Draco made some scathing remarks to that effect for nostalgia’s sake as they walked back to the festival.

On the way, Potter filled Draco in on the Revivalists attacks. Draco saw no need to mention his familiarity with the case due to the stolen file. Let Potter discover it and get pissed off at a later date, preferably when Draco would be out of the country tracking another Russian princess who eloped with her piano instructor and the family jewels.

They entered the dazzling light and deafening noise. “Are we allowed to have any fun while we’re here?” Draco asked. A sense of adventure and excitement tingled in his veins; he hadn’t felt like this since his first few jobs, and he wasn’t sure what the lure was: the festival with the music vibrating from the stage and the general debauchery, the purpose of his stay, or Potter.

“What did you have in mind?”

Draco cast a slow look down his body and then up again. “Oh, I could think of something.”

When Draco was saying things like that in Potter’s office, Potter huffed and stomped his foot and told Draco to get lost. Here, he looked straight at Draco and said, “I’m sure you will. It’s Beltane after all.”

He strode to the bar and left Draco to follow — once he unfroze from the shock. This was… new.

Draco ordered a pint of spicy cider and spent the night at Potter’s bar, watching him serve customers, alert and watchful, his gaze frequently sweeping the grounds. Often he’d turn to glance at Draco, sometimes even granting him a small smile or a lingering look.

Draco felt out of sorts at this turn of events. Until now he’d controlled his interactions with Potter, deciding when to visit the Auror offices and how long to stay. The only exception was their accidental meeting that night at the _Thestral_ , three years after the trials. In his drunken haze, Draco had lost Pansy and Blaise and found himself at the bar squeezed against an equally wasted Potter, who decided to order shots for the both of them. They spent the remainder of the evening talking. The alcohol had loosened Draco’s well-guarded tongue, a mistake he was careful never to repeat; not that he’d embarrassed himself, he thought. From the little he remembered the next morning, he’d been waxing lyrical about the benefits of working and living alone, his refusal to be tied down at all costs. “I want no ridiculous attachments dragging me down,” Draco had said. He had the tendency to say it a lot those days.

But he must have done something that pissed Potter off, because Potter had been considerably cooler with him after that night. Draco worried he’d made a pass on Potter, maybe even confessed to wanking over him: hence the coldness. He stopped going to that pub and began hitting on Potter in such an exaggerated way within hearing of everyone in the hopes he’d convince him it’d all been a joke. Draco would give anything for a Pensieve so he could watch the memory of that night sober, but the damn things were too expensive and his mother’s Healers ate almost every knut he made.

The concert was about to end. The band had passed the microphone to the audience, who sang in one voice: “ _Imagine all the Beings/living life in peace_ …” Soon came applause, and the heaving mass of revellers moved from the arena to the bars for last orders and then to the tents rustling in the night air. Small fires and hovering lights appeared between them, and singing and laughter rose to the bright stars above. Potter spoke with his colleague, shook hands with her, and came round the bar to where Draco was standing. “Where you staying?”

“I haven’t set up my tent yet.”

Potter glanced at the dark arena before turning to Draco. “If you promise not to tie me up in my sleep and haul me to Robards, you can share mine. There’s lots of space.”

Draco’s heart thumped against his ribs. He had to clear his voice before he spoke. “I promise not to take you to Robards tonight.”

“I see you left the tying up out of your promise,” Potter said lightly. He set off towards the tents. “Coming?”

Draco rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, took a breath to calm his erratic heart beats and followed Potter to the campsite. They wove through people singing, laughing and telling tales. The festival-goers sat in groups by species, but occasionally he’d notice a goblin with centaurs or a house-elf sitting with a pack of werewolves. This was the new way of things and Draco found it oddly touching. He knew what his father would say if he’d been alive, but he shoved the pain of his father’s memory aside. The night was fragrant and starlit, and he was going to be sharing a tent with Potter.

Deeper and deeper in the campsite they went until they reached a small tent set a little farther back than the rest, amidst the trees. Potter suggested a drink outside before bed. “Muggle beers alright?” When Draco said yes, Potter summoned a pair of cold bottles and a packet of Walkers crisps, and conjured a small fire.

Sitting beside Potter in the firelit night, away from the Ministry, left Draco tongue-tied. The jokes that flowed out of Draco during the day seemed to have disappeared now that it was the two of them in the dark. Anticipation, curiosity, desire weighed down every word he tried to utter. He’d never been alone with Potter since the night at the pub. Draco feared he’d blurt something about his stupid attraction again, open up to the one person he was hesitant to; but he also felt as if he was already open, like a chest wound you don’t notice until too late. He sipped his beer and peeled the label off the bottle and glanced a lot at Potter.

“How did you find me?” Potter asked.

Best not mention the stolen file. Draco had other sources. “You asked Mundungus’s cousin for an illegal Portkey to Scotland. You knew he wouldn't talk to Aurors; but he talked to me. Rookie mistake, Potter.”

Potter smiled. “If you say so.”

“You should be yelling and going in a strop,” Draco said, frowning. “‘ _No, Draco, you’re wrong, I’m a smart and powerful Auror_.’”

Potter burst out laughing. “Was that supposed to be me? I’m sure I don’t speak in such a high voice.”

“You do when I impersonate you,” Draco said. “Which I do, often, at great length, and to everyone I meet.”

“That warms my heart. How often you speak of me.” Potter sounded amused.

Draco nudged him with his shoulder, but couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his face. They shared the crisps and finished their beers. The temperature had dropped and Draco wrapped himself in his jacket. Above them, through the swaying tree branches, the stars burned cold and bright.

“Wanna hear my theory about the imminent attack?” Potter asked.

“Does it have something to do with the poisoned coffee?”

“Who told—” Potter sighed. “You were at the Auror department, of course. They love to gossip. See, we had a few days last week when everyone was irritable and paranoid. Fights erupted. Arguments escalated to full-on rows, almost brawls. It didn’t feel natural. That got me thinking…” Potter stretched his legs in front of him. “When the gas attack failed, they must have come up with a better way to deliver a substance. A house-elf had smelled the gas, but you gotta take a sip before you realise there’s something wrong with your drink. And coffee has such a strong taste it’ll cover anything.”

“Found any evidence?”

Potter ran a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t the coffee. But I’m sure it was _something_. Two days later, everyone had gone back to normal. As if the drug — whatever it was — had been removed.”

“Which is why you’re working in a bar,” Draco concluded, suspecting that Potter had checked every barrel in the vicinity. “Why would they want to make people _irritable_?”

“Can you imagine this festival turning into a riot? Even if no one dies, it’d be conclusive proof that the Beings can’t coexist peacefully. The goblin talks will end. The centaurs will retreat back in the woods, out of sight. Every progress the elves have made will be rendered irrelevant. That’s _if_ there are no fatalities, no people crushed in a centaur stampede or bitten to death by vamps. In that case we’re looking at hostilities. It’d be a shame. I mean, look at this.”

Draco looked. He saw elves roasting marshmallows, goblins with flower crowns strumming a peculiar kind of instrument, vampires flirting with veelas, humans exchanging stories by the fire. Fireflies and glittering fairies — attracted by the music and the joy — fluttered overhead in the velvety night. A centaur was showing the stars to a group of humans, pointing at a constellation. Ghosts floated around, silvery-grey, and chatted with different groups. Draco _looked_ and saw for the first time since Voldemort how their world was _mending_. All it ever needed was new friends, music, some alcohol, and goodwill. A late April night under the wide sky with a breeze that smelled like wildflowers, the sound of crackling fire, and the sense of history in the making; Draco had lived through his share of historic moments and could recognise the feeling.

“I see,” he said. He allowed himself to hold Potter’s gaze for a long moment. It was a night when anything could happen.

Potter stretched on the grass on his elbow. “Did you ever imagine, when you were little, that you’d be doing the life you do? Catching people with a bounty on their head? Sleeping in tents?”

 Draco snorted. “ _Never_. I’d always assumed I’d spend a lifetime sleeping in four-poster beds and eating six-course meals. I never expected life would bring me to… this.”

“This?” Potter prompted.

It was Draco’s turn to stretch on the grass beside Potter. It seemed like a conversation that would be best conducted lying down, looking at the dark infinity above. “This living out of a suitcase. Tracking down people or valuables using means that would be at best described as dodgy, at worst, downright illegal. Having a cat that spends half her time with Pansy to the point she renamed her Persephone. I’m Hades — obviously.”

Potter chuckled. He was gazing at Draco as he spoke, the flames casting dancing shadows on his face, glinting off his glasses. The wind had picked up, carrying snatches of conversation and the sounds forests make when it’s dark. Draco paused, his chest tight. “This: sharing a tent with you.” He tried to make a joke about it, but his voice betrayed him: all scratchy and low.

Potter said nothing for a moment in which Draco’s heart stopped and started several times.

And then: “How about this?” Potter reached out to link his fingers with Draco’s.

Draco swallowed, his pulse going from a canter to a gallop. “I daresay it’s quite a surprise.” He always became formal when he was flustered.

“Is it really?” Potter murmured, stroking Draco’s hand. “I thought I’d been rather obvious. Why do you think I invited you back to my tent?”

“Why did you?” Draco burned to know.

Potter’s eyes were hidden behind the reflection of his glasses. “You asked for fun. Tomorrow’s Beltane Eve. Why not?”

 _Why not_. Draco had many reasons why not, but they all escaped him right this minute.

“Shall we go inside?” Potter stood, dousing the fire with a quick wand movement and opening the tent flap.

To say that Draco hurried to follow Potter inside the tent was an understatement. His heart raced ahead of him into the compact space and his body followed, determined and demanding, pressing close to Potter once they were in and nuzzling his cheek. His hands travelled down Potter’s back and settled on his arse. “Is this something you want?” he asked, his mouth on Potter’s jaw.

“It is,” Potter said, cupping the back of Draco's head. His lips tickled Draco’s skin. “It’s very much what I want.”

Draco wasted not another second. He tilted his head and claimed Potter’s mouth, who made a small noise, and opened eagerly to welcome Draco’s intrusion. Draco’s bones melted with pleasure. Potter kissed like a champion. He kissed like he was made of fire and sunlight, sending sparks all the way down to Draco’s toes. Draco wrapped his hand at the back of Potter’s head, burying his fingers in his hair, and pulled him flush against him. He slotted between Potter’s thighs and ground his hips, feeling Potter’s erection against him.

“Take this off,” Potter demanded, breathless and flushed, and tugged at Draco’s jacket. Draco threw his jacket on his backpack and took off his shirt, while Potter tossed his glasses on an armchair. He beckoned to the ladder that led to the loft area, his eyes falling on Draco’s naked chest. When Draco approached him, like a magnet, like a man hypnotised, Potter flicked his nipple, his lust clear on his face.

“You, now,” Draco said. “Let me see you.”

Potter grinned and led him up to the bed in the loft. “This used to be the tent of Bill Weasley,” he said, undressing, much too slowly in Draco’s opinion. It probably didn’t help that Draco interrupted the undressing with kisses and touches and nips. “He let me keep it when— ah, _that’s it_.”

“Can we not talk about a Weasley?” Draco found a nipple and he laved his tongue over it, sucking at the nub.

Potter arched below him, a moan escaping his lips. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Don’t say things like that to me, Potter,” Draco said, trailing soft teeth down his stomach. He jerked Potter's jeans off, then his own, and stared at a sprawled, smiling Potter on the messy sheets, a vision made of lean limbs, heavy cock and dark hair. Draco wanted to lick each one of his bones; he wanted to bury his head in the nooks and crannies of his body; he wanted to trace with his tongue the constellation of scars scattered on Potter’s pale skin.

But the first thing he wanted to do was taste him.

He knelt between Potter’s open knees, whose breath hitched, and licked his shaft. Draco looked up, smirking, his tongue playing with Potter’s slit, his fingers pulling the foreskin down to reveal more of the silky head.

“You’re—” Potter trailed off, never saying what Draco was. His eyelids fluttered with desire as Draco sucked him, keeping his eyes trained on Potter’s face.

“I want to suck you, too.” Potter stroked Draco’s shorn hair; his fingers, unable to pull hair, moved lower to cup Draco’s cheek. “Let me suck you.”

Draco shifted, hovering over Potter but facing his legs. He adjusted his position to wrap his mouth around Potter’s cock, prodding the slit with the tip of his tongue. And then — sweet Merlin — Potter’s mouth found Draco’s cock. Draco had to take a break to make sure he wouldn’t come immediately. The idea that Potter was giving him head made him dizzy. The sensation of Potter sucking him so deep, so fast, so—

Potter was _excellent_ at giving head, Draco realised. Well, Draco wouldn’t be outshone. He bent his head to his task and fisted the base of Potter’s cock while sucking him, matching his pace, swallowing him deeper and deeper. Pleasure sparked in his veins, his arousal a rising wave threatening to crash when Potter reached to play with Draco’s bollocks. Humming in pleasure, Draco put his weight on one elbow and used the other hand to slide between Potter’s arse. His position didn’t allow Draco to reach inside the cleft, but even that tentative exploration had Potter writhing. Drawing back from Draco’s cock, Potter gasped as his orgasm hit the back of Draco’s throat.

Draco rose to his knees and turned to face him.

“Want me to help you?” Potter rasped, pointing at Draco’s erection.

“Oh, you will.” Draco straddled Potter’s chest. He stroked Potter’s damp hair off his forehead, resting his fingertips briefly on his scar. Such a daring thing to do. His heart drummed fast, but Potter allowed it.

Draco trailed his fingertips lower, tracing Potter’s cheek and coming to a stop on his lips. He slid a finger between them and Potter sucked it, staring at him. “That’s it, Harry,” Draco whispered, unable to tear his eyes from Potter’s red, swollen mouth around his digit. He fed Potter a second finger, which he sucked eagerly. Draco thought he’d come from this sight alone.

Almost. “Want my cock again?”  

Potter nodded, his tongue swirling around Draco’s fingers. Draco shuffled forward and pressed his cock in Potter’s mouth. He rocked his hips and closed his eyes, savouring the sensation of the wet heat around his prick. Potter ran his hands over Draco’s thighs, digging in his thrusting hips and kneading his arse. Draco was so very close. He opened his eyes and fucked Potter’s mouth, his breath stuttering as his movements grew erratic and wild, until he couldn’t hold his orgasm back any longer and pulled out and came panting all over Potter’s face, mad with lust at the sight of his pearly come falling on Potter’s rosy cheeks.

“ _Fuck_.” Draco flopped beside Potter and fumbled on the floor for his wand to cast a quick cleaning spell. “I want to buy a Pensieve,” he said, catching his breath, “so I can revisit this memory again and again.”

Potter turned to face him. He looked relaxed and happy and Draco wanted to touch him again. “There’s one in the department that I can use after hours.”

Draco pouted. “Well, that’s unfair.”

Chuckling, Potter pulled the duvet over them and squirmed in the sheets until he settled close to Draco. “Sleep, Draco. We’ve a long day tomorrow.”

Draco watched him until he fell asleep. “Sleep well, Harry.”

 

* * *

 

Draco found a cup of tea and a danish waiting for him downstairs when he woke. He rummaged in his backpack for a change of clothes, took a quick shower, and, tea and danish in hand, walked outside in search for Harry.  

It was still too early for anyone else to have woken up, although there appeared to be a group three tents down still partying from the night before. Dew covered the meadow where tents rustled in the crisp wind like sails in a wide green sea, and birds cawed from the surrounding woods. Harry stood gazing at the bonfires on the hill, deep in thought.

Draco approached him and kissed his shoulder. “Morning, Harry.” This was daring, too. The use of first name, the kisses. Harry had said he’d only wanted some fun, but Draco decided to take all he could get.

Harry beamed, looking so pleased to see him that Draco ached. “Morning, Draco.”

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“Well, I arranged it so that I don’t have a shift. We’ll patrol the grounds, keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

Draco raised his eyebrow at the fact that Harry wouldn’t work on the busiest day of the festival: Beltane Eve and a Saturday. “That was quick, you getting a job at one of the festival’s bars at the last minute.”

Harry blushed and looked at his shoes. “I, er, convinced the manager that she needed to hire me during set-up.”

“You mean _Confunded_ the manager,” Draco laughed. “I bet that’s against Auror rules.”

“No,” Harry clearly lied, although he’d been caught out. “I’m simply very persuasive.”

Draco snorted.

Harry flicked a loaded glance his way. “I persuaded you to come back to mine.”

“Trust me, Harry,” Draco said, stepping right up to him, “no persuasion was necessary.” He sealed his words with a brush of his lips against Harry’s.

Harry’s eyes filled with yearning, his expression glad and nervous at the same time. He sought his mouth, and Draco offered it, kissing him softly. He wrapped his arms around Harry and pressed him tight, feeling the kiss deepening, becoming more urgent and messy, and soon downright filthy.

Harry stepped back, panting and blazing and looking delicious. “We’ve got work to do,” he said with regret, straightening his crooked glasses.

Draco took deep breaths to calm his arousal. “Let’s go save the day then.”

They sneaked at the back of the bars and conducted a last test on the barrels of ale, cider, mead and wine as well as well as the coffee and tea pots in the breakfast bars. Harry knew a handy spell from work, which made the presence of a foreign substance in a drink glow scarlet (“it doesn’t work on cocktails or spirits with mixers,” he explained to Draco as he was teaching him the spell. “It perceives the tonic in a gin and tonic as the foreign substance. If you’re ever concerned someone’s trying to poison you and want to use this spell, stick to pure spirits.” “I’ll keep it in mind,” Draco said, who had indeed been poisoned once by a witch he’d been tracking in Latvia.)

But nothing glowed red and by the time their tests finished, the workers arrived to make everything ready for the day, and Harry and Draco had to scarper. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and Draco considered the possibility that perhaps their hunch had been wrong and nothing would happen. Perhaps the terrorists wouldn’t strike in this place — or at all. Perhaps Draco could get to have some fun, listen to music and kiss Harry some more.

However, the universe had never been a big fan of Draco's. As he was idly entertaining these thoughts, a truck rolled in with Muggle beers; crates and crates of bottles clattering as it thundered past them and came to a stop beside the cider bar.

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance.

“Right,” Draco said, rolling his sleeves up as Harry cast a Disillusionment spell over them both. “You’ve promised me fun, Harry, and I’ve spent the morning crawling in the dirt behind trucks and testing booze for poison. You’d better have a good reward for me after this.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “You mean this isn’t fun for you?”

Draco rolled his eyes and followed him behind the truck, whose owner was busy talking to the festival manager about his delay and then setting up his bar. Each bottle had to be tested separately and the process took forever.

It was a mind-numbing task. “Let’s have a break,” Draco suggested, mopping his forehead. They’d been crouching in the back of the truck for over an hour and still had half the crates to check. “It’s still early for people to go on the beer. We can eat something and come back to do the rest.”

Removing the Disillusionment charm, they wandered the food stalls, bought burgers, and ate them, watching the people come and go. “Perhaps they’ll attack somewhere else,” Draco said between mouthfuls.

“No.” Harry was categorical.

“How do you know?” Draco asked. “There are other Beltane celebrations in the country.”

“I just _know_.”

“You just—”

“Draco, darling!” a voice interrupted them. “How _are_ you?” Draco’s old school friend, Daphne, approached him, beaming in her white crochet dress and her innumerable turquoise rings and pendants. She had her own stall there as the best-selling author of _Eat, Cast, Love_ , a memoir of her journey “outwards but also inwards”, she was saying now to Draco with many gestures. She glanced at Harry. “How do you do?” she said, startling Draco until he remembered that everyone saw Potter’s glamour, the bloke with the dreads.

Harry didn’t even blink. “James.” He offered his hand, which she shook eagerly, examining him with great interest, presumably so she could describe Draco’s date to their mutual friends. “I’ve got to dash, darling — so much to do! Ta-ra!”

By then, the familiar had faces multiplied as more new visitors were arriving, but not everyone stopped for a chat. Corner and Goldstein from school didn’t, but Beverly did, asking Draco insistent questions as to what he was doing there. “Don’t think I’m pushy, James,” she explained to Harry. “Just doing my job. I’m the Head Auror’s secretary. This young man received three hundred galleons from us yesterday and now he’s here partying instead of doing whatever he’s paid to do.”

“It’s all under control,” Draco told her, hoping she’d go away. She did, but a moment later they ran across Ger Calgary. “What a _pleasant_ surprise,” Draco drawled.

“Malfoy. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here,” Calgary said, loading the _here_ with even more contempt than the word _you_. He barely spared a glance for Harry.

“Do you have a problem with the festival?” Draco asked.

“No problem.” Calgary shook his head, looking like he very much had a problem. “It’s just,” he started, “people forget this is a _fertility_ festival.” He stared at Draco and nodded as if he’d explained himself adequately. “A festival of _sex_ magic where people have _sex_ in the fields to encourage a plentiful harvest. What is the message we’re sending if we say it’s OK for our children to mix with werewolves and,” his mouth frowned in distaste, “centaurs and _goblins_?”

“Why are you here then?” Harry asked.

Calgary seemed surprised that a stranger had the cheek to address him. “My _niece_ is here and her father sent me to fetch her. He’s not happy with her attending. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Harry and Draco watched him disappear in the crowd. Draco said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That he’s the mole? It’s possible.”

Following Calgary or testing the bottled beers? Harry suggested splitting up to do both, but Draco shook his head. “I really don’t think it’s the Muggle beers. It’d have taken the Revivalists bloody _ages_ to spike each of those bottles. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Besides, not many people are gourmet enough to drink Heineken.”

Harry snorted. “ _Gourmet_. Sure,” he smiled fondly at Draco. “Let’s go see if Ger’s story about his niece holds up.”

Draco linked his hand with Harry’s. “Is this OK? So, er, it doesn’t look like we’re stalking him.”

Harry squeezed his hand. “It’s OK.” The look on his face made Draco pray to Merlin they’d catch the terrorists as soon as humanly possible so he could drag Harry back to the tent and have his way with him.

Calgary didn’t make it easy for them. He combed the entire site. He took the path which led to Loch Arkaig where merpeople splashed on the shore, he checked out the arena where the first singer of the day was bouncing around to a lukewarm reception, and he poked around the campsite where vampires were sleeping off their hangovers, but no niece made an appearance.

As the afternoon wore on, the festival was coming alive. A soft drizzle started falling, making the ground slippery. Witches and wizards conjured raincoats and wellingtons, while house-elves clicked their fingers and were similarly booted. Draco noticed some humans conjuring raincoats for their new goblin friends, who laughed as they donned the bright clothing. “If Father could see me, he’d disown me,” squeaked one in a lilac coat, proving that their species had more in common than Draco had previously thought.

Calgary still hadn’t found his niece.

“Do you think he’s on to us?” Harry said, when Calgary roamed the area with the shaman tents and the jewellery stalls for the third time.

“I’m excellent at stealth, so no,” Draco said. He’d cast the Chameleon Charm on both of them, the best stealth tool in his arsenal, one of the tricks of his trade, which he refused to share with Harry on the grounds of “I don’t want to.”

“Is he deliberately wasting our time then?” Harry rubbed his face. “Let’s go back to the bars,” he said, desperately clinging to his theory.

They had nothing else to cling to, though, and as the clouds thickened, so their spirits fell. Around them, people slipped in the mud with shrieks, or shoved each other, or mud wrestled. A new band started playing, fast rock n’ roll guitar riffs, and laughing people jostled the two of them as they headed all ways, but Harry and Draco trudged through the falling rain, both quiet and grim.

“Fighting Voldemort,” Harry started, “was an easier task, if you can believe it. I knew what he wanted: to take over. It made sense. But this terrorism? A mass attack on innocents for no actual purpose? These people aren’t planning to take over the government and rule. They don’t do it to rise to a position of power. They attack, because they feel threatened. They attack only to make us feel scared.”  His voice was really low when he said, “It’s so… _random_ , and senseless, and I’m not sure I know how to fight this.”

Draco cupped his jaw and brought Harry’s face up. “Well, I didn’t survive a Dark Lord residing in my home, a father’s suicide and a mother’s breakdown so that a bunch of silly men can make me feel scared. Rufus Stiffendorf and the rest of the Flints can suck my dick. This is a festival of joy and that’s the only thing I’ll allow to happen tonight: joy.” He squeezed Harry's jaw. “We'll catch them.”

Harry let out a surprised laugh. “Trust you to— Sorry, did you say the Flints? What do the Flints have to do with Stiffendorf?”

“The Stiffendorfs are a branch of the Flint family, why?”

An expression of dawning horror spread on Harry’s face. “Beverly Thorn’s maiden name is Flint.”

“We’ve been trailing the wrong person,” Draco growled. “Let me see, I know a spell which can track her… No, we need saliva for that. Or—”

“No need,” Harry interrupted. “I know what she spiked.” He pointed at the water fountains.

Draco had never wanted to facepalm himself so much. Of course it’d be water: the common denominator. The drink that’s free as well as essential to all species.

Harry pelted towards the fountains and shoved people out of the way, knocking their water bottles out of their hands. “It’s unsafe,” he called to them, pulling out his badge.

Draco didn’t want to admit it, but even in this dire situation Harry flashing his badge made him a little horny. He coughed and approached the crowd. “Pour every drop of water you have on the ground and use Aguamenti from now on. Help your non wand-carrier friends!”

Some people were startled and moved away, but others had been affected. Tempers rose. They shoved Harry and Draco, demanded explanations, and one almost punched Harry. The affected elves were particularly vicious.

“I’ll deal with the crowd,” Draco said, pulling out his wand and throwing a few stunners in the air as a warning. “You get us the evidence we need.”

Harry cast the diagnostic spell and the water in all five fountains glowed red: bingo! This visible evidence of tampering worried some people; more and more revellers gathered, tension writ over their faces. Draco frowned. Panic could easily lead to chaos and accidents, so he cast a Sonorus to address them. “Nothing to worry about,” he fake-smiled. “Go enjoy the festivities. Cast a Cheering charm on yourselves just in case. Smoke some weed. Tell your parents it was medicinal.”

Finally, as the rain fell harder, the crowd dispersed. Exhaling, Draco turned to Harry in time to see his silver stag patronus leap in the air and vanish. “I’ll take a sample from the water,” Harry said. “Do you know how to establish a perimeter?”

Draco didn’t establish anything, but he strode until he reached Harry, pulled him by the shirt, and kissed him hard on the mouth while rain fell around them. “We did it,” he said, relief coursing through him. “We saved the day.” The exultation surging in his veins astonished him. He’d experienced the elation of a successful apprehension before, but this — this was different.

Things moved fast after that. Before long, Robards and a team of Aurors alerted by Harry’s patronus were striding their way. “The attack has been foiled, sir,” said Harry.

Robards glared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

Harry removed his glamour and explained to his boss about the contaminated water and his suspicions of Beverly. The Aurors split in groups, some after Beverly, others to help the festival’s security and ensure no riots broke out.

“All in all, a successful job, Potter,” Robards said after he’d been debriefed. “Although I could’ve done without the theatrics — taking off without a note, leaving your partner in the dark…”

“Draco helped a great deal,” Harry said.

Robards turned to glare at him as he smoked under one of the conjured umbrellas they’d cast. “He’d better have. He cost the department an arm and a leg to hire.”

Draco smirked. “I’m worth every knut. I’ll be coming on Monday to settle our bill.”

Robards shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t bring Potter back. I’m not sure the terms of our agreement have been met.” He met Draco’s eyes. “Instead of throwing a tantrum, as I know you will, how about you come on Monday with an application form? We need good Aurors.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robards waved him off. “You don’t want a boss breathing down your neck.” He glanced at Harry and then back at Draco and leered. “Take some time to… _sleep_ on it.” He winked at Draco and left.

Draco stared at his retreating back. “Well, that sucks.”

“You got three hundred galleons for a day’s work,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I say that’s more than adequate. And since we’re here… we can enjoy the festival. It’s Beltane Eve.” He pointed at the hill behind Draco where the bonfires had been lit; they blazed and sputtered in the rain, incandescent against the darkening sky, heralds of a bright future.

It was a night Draco would remember for a long time. He and Harry sampled a little from every food stall and a tipple from every bar before they joined the procession which wove between the bonfires, an old magic charm to ensure a prosperous summer. Centaurs carried elves on their backs, veelas danced ahead, hand in hand with goblins, everyone cheerful and excited. They ended up at the arena where a young singer in pink robes with rhinestones strutted his way on stage. Draco spent every minute of the evening touching Harry, his hand, his shoulder, his arse, his waist. They danced nose to nose, breathing each other’s breaths, and Draco leaned in and kissed him under the lights and the drizzle. Harry kissed him back, sliding his hand under Draco’s damp shirt and pulling him close.

“As much fun as this is,” Draco said, nodding at the gig, “I’d rather be somewhere else.”

Harry said nothing, he just grabbed Draco and Apparated them to the loft in the tent. Draco fell on him at once, tugging at his clothes impatiently, ripping his shirt, kicking his own shoes off, which thumped down the ladder. “Salazar, I want you so much.”

Harry made a noise against his neck while he unbuckled Draco’s belt. “I’ve been wanting this for _years_ …”

“Years?” Draco paused and placed his hand on Harry’s chest. “ _Years_? In the Ministry, when I—”

“In the Ministry, you’re _performing_ ,” Potter said, taking off his boxers. “In the Ministry,” he shoved Draco on the bed, “…you’re all jokes and _teasing_ ,” he crawled over Draco, “in front of _others_.” He ground his hips against Draco’s, eliciting a moan from him. “I’d no idea you actually liked me. How could I? The one time I asked you out and you turned me down.”

Draco really didn’t want to be pausing Harry as he was frotting against him and kissing his collarbone, but the world had gone upside down. “Pardon?”

Harry sat on his heels. Draco made a concerted effort to pay attention to his words and not to the thick cock bobbing between his legs. “That night at the pub. I admit I was a little worse for wear and so were you. But I did ask. OK, maybe I simply suggested we should meet for another drink. But you went off on one about how you value your freedom and independence and never want to be tied to anyone or anything. I took it as a no. When you started coming in at work to _gloat_ , making all those innuendos… well, I assumed you were mocking me for asking you out.”

Draco stared at Harry’s earnest face. “Is that why you were so cold with me? I’d thought—”

Harry shrugged. “It was Ger actually who said something like, ‘This man must be crazy about you to come and pester you every time he steps foot in the building.’ So I — don’t tell my boss —  I used the department’s Pensieve to relive the memory. And it was true that I asked you out, but you never said no, you said something about having to be away the following week, and we got talking about work and _that_ was when you started spouting off about your independence manifesto. Which is why—” He paused, evidently hesitating to say something.

“Go on, spit it out,” Draco said.

 “Well, this week. I suspected Robards would hire you to find me, and I knew you’d ask around at Knockturn Alley, so I went to Mundungus’s cousin for a Portkey — which I didn’t need, because I Apparated — so you’d know where I went.”

Draco fell back on the pillow and covered his eyes with his arm. “I’m not sure I can take all these revelations.” His mind was spinning. Harry wanting a bit of fun was one thing, but the fact that he’d fancied him for ages was another. And the drunken conversation…

They were both _such_ idiots.

Warm hands pulled his arm from his face, and Harry’s green eyes stared at his. “I was hoping you’d find me. And you did.” He smiled wistfully. “And you stayed.”

“For the gold,” he said, in a last, desperate effort not to reveal how unsteady this intimacy made him.

Harry’s smile vanished. “You keep telling yourself that.”

A frowning Harry wouldn’t do. _Bollocks_. Falling for a Gryffindor was such a terrible idea; they demanded from Draco the same bravery they exhibited themselves.

Draco sat up and drew Harry close. “And for you,” he admitted. “I stayed for you.”

A slow, radiant smile spread on Harry's face, eyes alight with joy, and Draco kissed him; a kiss slow and deep and filled with years of wanting. “And now I want to do filthy things to you,” he murmured in Harry’s ear.

“Yes,” Harry rasped, “whatever you want, Draco.”

“I told you you shouldn’t say those things to me,” Draco said, removing the rest of his clothing. “There’s _so_ much I want. My cock in your arse, for a start.”

Harry pushed him on the mattress and straddled him. “That sounds good. For a start.”

 _Oh, boy_. Harry rocked his hips against Draco’s erection, making him see stars. Summoning a tube of lube, he shuffled closer to straddle Draco’s chest. His eyes were dark and heavy, his face slack with desire as his cock breached Draco’s mouth. “You look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth,” he whispered. Draco swirled his tongue around it, but Harry pulled back a little and handed him the lube. “Prepare me?”

Draco coated his trembling fingers and slid a finger between Harry’s arse cheeks. Harry crouched over him, propping himself with one hand, the other stroking his cock, the cockhead brushing against Draco’s lips. “That’s it…” he gasped, when Draco breached him. “ _Oh_. I like that.” He made delightful noises as Draco worked on him, his skin flushed, shining with sweat, looking delectable, a treat Draco wanted to _devour_. Patience was never Draco's virtue. He rolled Harry on his back and pressed into him with one firm thrust that had Harry shuddering. Draco fisted the sheets and shut his eyes to stem back the onslaught of desire, but Harry bucked his hips, demanding more.

“Like this?” Draco tangled a hand with his and pumped his hips, driving deeper and deeper into the tight warmth of Harry’s arse, his mouth messy on Harry’s jaw. He reached between them to curl his fingers around Harry’s prick and stroke him fast.

“Yes, Draco,” Harry said, quivering under him, looking more beautiful than he had any right to, lips red as he bit them in between groans. “Oh, bloody _hell,_ Draco…” He arched his back and held Draco tight as he came, his arse clenching sweetly against Draco, who whimpered and lost himself in the sensation, pounding and pounding until he came inside Harry with a broken, muffled gasp.

Draco draped himself over Harry, unwilling to move an inch, and Harry caressed his back gently, his fingers mapping the lines of Draco’s body. Draco might have whispered some embarrassing things in his ear as his pulse calmed, the intimacy making him ache and soar at the same time. Eventually, he rolled beside Harry, who faced him and Draco kissed him again, because he could.

“There’s so much I want,” he confessed. “So fucking much.”

Harry said, “Including your independence. That’s what you want the most, you said.”

“Perhaps it was,” Draco said. “Once. After everything that had happened with my parents, I—” He swallowed and shook those memories away. Harry was here and he wanted him. All Draco had to do was reach out. Grasp what he also wanted.

So he did. He caressed Harry’s face with soft fingers, lingering on his lips and the tender skin under his ear and said, “That was the past. Now I’ve got everything I want right here, resting on my fingertips.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, press the kudos button, baby! Kudos (kudoses?) feed my soul!  
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